Creativity
by cosmophilia
Summary: An idea that won't leave me alone about the loosely-tied ending of the Skyrim Civil War quests. In which the Dragonborn employs some tricks up her sleeve for the remaining opposition tucked away in the forests and hills.


_But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean_  
 _Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams_

 _\- Age of Aggression_

* * *

 **Creativity**

* * *

Missives.

Endless missives.

If she's not the one writing them, she'd be reading them. She leaned back on her chair and let her head dangle on the edge, palms pressing at her temples to stave off an incoming headache. What she'd give for a good distraction right now...

A thought hit her, as she straightened before stretching her limbs and leaving the damned paperwork on her desk. Judging from the setting lights reflected on her window, the worst of the sun's onslaught is over, and the weather out should be good for walking. With a small smile to herself, Legate Rikke stood and left her quarters.

* * *

From atop the cobbled battlement of Castle Dour, she watched as the hawks flew gracefully in the air. She contemplated for a brief moment how nice it would be to become one of them when—

An arrow wheezed by and hit a bird midflight.

Alarmed, she turned to the direction where the shot came from. "Hey!" She called out, startling the citizens going about below, "who did—"

A familiar face smiled sheepishly at her, both hands up in surrender.

"My apologies, Legate," the Dragonborn offered, "I had no idea you were there."

Rikke sighed. 'O _f course, these will only happen with this woman around.'_

"Please strip her of her rank, Legate," Captain Aldis said, looking a bit frayed at the seams, "arrest her, even. I refuse to put up with this anymore."

The accused's response was a glare. "Traitor."

The wonder it left on the soldiers were lasting, as some of them are still looking at the dead bird that dropped in the middle of the training grounds.

"If you all think that was impressive," came Aldis' voice once more, arms crossed at the behaviour of his charges, "then maybe you lot should squire under her."

This elicited excited outbursts from the crowd. The older Nord woman watched, as they turned to seek the other woman's approval... only to find out that she'd hightailed to her residence.

She had to bite back the bubbling laughter in her throat when the collective groans of the men filled the air.

 _'What a distraction, indeed.'_

* * *

Alesan was retelling his adventures in the Solitude stables as they supped when a knock came. Jordis immediately excused herself from the table, but Elaira stood, gesturing for the Housecarl to stay.

"I'll get it," said she, "make sure Alesan doesn't continue his story or I'll summon a Dremora."

The occupants of the table visibly paled as she made her way downstairs. Opening the door, she was met by the sight of Legate Rikke dressed in blue finery. The woman carried a spiced wine on one hand, and a good slab of Horker meat wrapped meticulously in cheese cloth on the other.

Elaira narrowed her eyes at her. "This isn't payback for startling you with that arrow earlier, is it?"

Rikke merely laughed. "Gods no. I intended to ask you about dining with us for tonight, but I see you're quite occupied." She nodded at a space behind her.

The other woman turned to look and saw the children, the housecarl, Meeko the dog _and_ the fox watching them.

"Seems you can't be bothered to come see us poor sobs in Castle Dour."

The Dragonborn parted the door wider and shook her head. "Nonsense. There's always room in my table for a friend; come in!"

She ushered the older woman in and accepted the spiced wine she proffered. "I think the people in the barracks would appreciate a warm cup of this more," Elaira said, as she poured some of it in a tankard, before placing it at a good distance in the hearth to warm it up. "It could help with the cold."

Rikke snorted as she set to work on the meat she brought. "That place ought to belong in Oblivion with its damnable cold, I say."

"The only thing colder than the place itself," the Thane of Solitude said, pouring wine in another tankard and then handing it to her guest, "is the general that lives in it."

With that, she retrieved her tankard from the hearth and raised it to Rikke, who returned the gesture.

"Agreed."

* * *

That is how they found themselves relocating dinner downstairs, in front of the hearth, as the older female Legate cooked Horker stew for the inhabitants of Proudspire Manor. Necessary introductions had been made, and to say Rikke was surprised to find that the Dragonborn had two children was an understatement.

"I know," she replied, when the Legate addressed it, "Didn't think I were the maternal type, too. I guess you could say they're my charges more than anything, but I am easily attached to lonesome urchins."

The two children made a face to this statement, even the dog whimpered as though it can comprehend.

Rikke pointed her chin towards it. "What's the story behind the dog?"

"Unfortunate, this one," Elaira said, before beckoning for the dog to come. She scratched behind its ear when it sat beside her, before continuing, "found him on my first trip to this Hold. Led me towards a shack in the woods where its dead master lay decaying on the bed. Rockjoint."

She nodded. The boy, Alesan, offered to cut tomatoes as she stripped lavender buds from its stem.

"I was taught how to for the miners in Dawnstar," he offered as explanation, "I cook, and I deliver food." He grinned at her. "I've been trying to get either Gianna or Bendt to teach me more about cooking, but they're both grouches..."

Rikke laughed heartily at this. She knew Gianna, she was the chef to Castle Dour after all, and can attest to the woman's grumpy attitude. Only cooking and talking about the author of Uncommon Taste can excite that woman.

"So, this is what occupies your time when you're away from service," she mused, catching the attention of the Dragonborn. "I was expecting a husband, though."

The other woman snorted on her tankard. "I'm more than capable of raising two and more on my own."

"How many men did you send weeping when you declared that?"

"Two," Sofie offered, as she scratched the cheek of a sleeping fox in her lap.

"Five," Alesan contested while dicing tomatoes, "she adopted me last, after all. And I was counting."

The little girl raised an eyebrow at this remark.

"What do you mean 'and more', Thane?" Jordis asked, to which the mentioned replied with a hearty laugh.

"It's where most of my septims go to nowadays," Elaira answered, before pouring herself more spiced wine. "I pay for the education of other abandoned children in Holds where I find them."

"Who would have known," Rikke grinned at her as she added the diced tomatoes to her stew, "Lady Elaira, Legate of the Imperial Legion, a charitable woman."

The woman responded with a smile of her own, once more raising her tankard, "I am but a servant to my people."

"Jarls better watch out; another usurper is on its way!"

The room broke out in mirth, and Rikke found that she doesn't regret imposing at the Dragonborn's home. The laughter is a welcome change from the quiet that seemed to envelop Castle Dour in every corner.

"I am curious, though," Sofie said as she wiped tears from her eyes, "was mama a good soldier?"

"Aye. Better than most, but also very competitive."

Alesan, now pouring the stew in small bowls before passing it around, looked at her in confusion. "Competitive?"

She nodded and passed a bowl to Jordis before settling in a chair across the boy. They'd dragged tables and chairs and arranged them to accommodate five, with the Dragonborn sitting at the head of it. Once in their places, they dug in their meals, before she regaled them with a tale.

"You didn't hear this from me," she started, "but since we've quelled the rebellion, we hold these meetings to give status reports about the remaining camps scattered about. We've had two so far, and since the last one, I'll be damned if I don't say that I'm not looking forward to the next."

Both children edged closer, even the Housecarl, while the Thane herself was looking pensively at her tankard.

 _'Oh, those meetings,'_ Rikke mused inwardly, a small smile creeping into her face.

* * *

Their first meeting took place in Castle Dour, in the middle of cold Evening Star. There was mild chatter in the room, some Legates hunched over the maps, some taking the time to rest. After all, the travel to Solitude from their respective Holds hasn't been forgiving, especially with the onslaught of trademark Skyrim snow...

The door opened, admitting the presence of the Dragonborn, with the furs draped around her making her look larger than she really is. Accompanying her is a clean-shaven Nord, decked in the armor she can only guess are meant for the fabled Companions of Whiterun.

 _'A welcome change,'_ Rikke thought then, because the man to her right tensed at the sight.

Murmured greetings to her fellow Legates were exchanged, before she stood in front of the older Nord woman and the General. With a fist to her chest, she inclined her head forward.

"Legate Rikke, General Tullius."

The aforementioned people nodded at her, before she straightened and assumed her place in the table, with her companion following at an arm's length. With everyone in their seats, Rikke followed the General as he addressed his subordinates.

"Thank you for coming despite the short notice and the weather," he offered as way of welcome. "We may have cut the rebellion at its head, but in its place, nine more grew. With our spies confirming reports of the remaining rebels hidden in their camps, we need to act before they can rob more families of their able-bodied members to die for a lost cause."

He then passed along a piece of parchment for the Legates to peruse.

"Written are the locations of the camps tucked away in hills and forests," General Tullius continued, as he placed markers for each in the map, "Let the rebels know that the Empire offers clemency should they stand down and will escort them to the Holds of their origin."

"And if they refuse?" Legate Fasendil, assigned to The Rift, asked.

"Show them no mercy," was the hard answer. The general addressed each of them with equally hard eyes, "Know that the priority is to minimize casualties. Skyrim has lost enough resources—"

Legate Rikke coughed.

"—sons and daughters to the foolish rebellion, and the sooner we can get the people back to the semblance of their lives before Ulfric raised his banners, the better."

The room was quiet.

"Death, or Sovngarde."

All eyes were upon the Dragonborn, as she took small sips of wine in her goblet. Suddenly aware of the attention, she straightened up, and cleared her throat.

"What I'm trying to say is that these rebels know they have two options," she elaborated, eyes addressing each face in the table, "Kill, or be killed. If we show up and say we offer leniency for their crimes, they'll be more likely eager to swing an axe to our faces. If, on the other hand, they take the offer and return them to their lands..."

"These are men and women who has killed forces from the opposing faction." Said Legate Constantius Tituleius, assigned to Dawnstar. He crossed his arms as he soon caught on to her line of thought. "There are families of those killed in their homelands, and we're looking at possible hostilities continuing inside the walls of each Hold. Murders, to justify the deaths of loved ones."

Legate Quentin Cipius of Whiterun nodded to this statement. "If not, they will soon turn to banditry. Some of these rebel camps had taken to assaulting travelling caravans lately, and it's just a matter of time before they attack towns with smaller guard contingents."

"That's why time is of the essence," the general reiterated. "The soonest the snow abates, I want you to address these camps and force them to surrender."

"No," the Dragonborn said, "we need to be creative."

General Tullius raised an inquisitive brow at her direction. "Details, Legate."

"We need a plan that minimizes casualties, not only on their end, but on ours as well. But that does not mean only one of us will present a statement of pardon to a group of cornered fighters out for blood. This plan should also ensure that no hostilities will continue even after we've set them free. What's stopping us from imposing labor for their involvement in Ulfric's uprising?"

The faces before her brightened.

"Cidhna Mine," Emmanuel Admand, Legate to the Reach, said; his voice barely above a whisper.

This made the Dragonborn's face pale, but none bothered to point it out. She cleared her throat, and continued, "That works, Legate Admand. After all, the Forsworn inside job has been sorted out. I am sure Thongvor Silver-Blood could use the hand, seeing as he lacks the brother to keep them in line now."

Admand's response was a small laughter disguised as a cough.

"Good plan, is what I'd like to say," the general said, eyes still trained at her, "but how do you plan on bringing them to heel?"

She smiled, and for some reason, Rikke wasn't sure that was a good question.

"Creativity." Was all she said.

* * *

Elaira snorted as Legate Rikke finished recounting that meeting. Sofie and Alesan weren't satisfied; as expected of curious children.

"And then?" The girl pressed.

"I'm afraid it's a tale for another dinner," the older Nord woman mused, before taking a long sip of her wine. "I'm not certain if your mother intended for you to hear what comes after."

The Redguard boy turned to his mother and asked, "Can we hear at least what transpired in the next meeting?"

The Dragonborn looked thoughtful, before nodding. "That's where it ends, anyway. The next meeting isn't due until next month."

The children brightened, as well as the Housecarl. Rikke shook her head. _'If I had known I'd be story-teller for this night, I'd have invited a bard to make a song out of this.'_

* * *

Middas of First Seed found them sitting back in Castle Dour once more. The Dragonborn came decked in her Imperial-issued heavy armor with her hair tied high at the back. No companions this time, Rikke noticed. Whether this affected the man on her right, he hid it carefully. Seems as though she was trying to be formal this time... if not for the mischievous smile she keeps on shooting Legate Fasendil, who returned the favor eagerly.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and when the General asked for updates regarding their meeting before, the High Elf raised his hand. Eagerly.

"The Stormcloak camp hidden away near Dragon's Bridge have successfully been apprehended," he said, golden eyes passing each one of them before locking eyes with the Dragonborn. He continued, with a smirk, "surrounded by a great force of two hundred Legionnaire soldiers."

The general said nothing. Elaira, on the other hand, looked like she's about to burst from excitement.

"A team effort, of course," Fasendil concluded, nodding at Taurinus Duilis and Tituleius, "we share this victory with no casualties on both sides."

"Impressive," General Tullius grunted, as his eyes skimmed the report before him.

"Why, two hundred seems excessive, don't you think?" The Dragonborn contested, a sly smile on her face, "I'd like to inform everyone on this table that I sent home the entire resisting force in the Reach with only four men."

Fasendil arched a brow at that. "How?"

"Four men atop four dragons, that's how."

The High Elf snorted ungracefully. "That's cheating, Elaira."

"Well, you didn't exactly state your conditions, Legate."

And so, they stared each other down, while the rest of them watched on. Or, in the case of General Tullius, stared down at the contents of the parchment.

"You know," Caessenius spoke, tearing through the tense silence in the room, "I would like to experience that for myself one day."

A spark was ignited in the eyes of the Dragonborn, and Fasendil groaned inaudibly.

* * *

"I'd like that too," Alesan mused dreamily.

Elaira responded by flicking his forehead as she grinned at him. "Maybe when you're older. Now, it's long past bedtime, children."

They groaned in unison, as Jordis ushered them upstairs, followed by the two pets of the household. Rikke stood from her chair and stretched.

"My throat feels like a whetstone, not gonna lie," she said, to which the other woman replied with laughter. "It was well worth it anyway; your children are a pair of good audiences. As well as your housecarl."

"Only to the stories that interest them, I'm afraid," Elaira replied, before standing from her seat as well. "Allow me to accompany you for a walk, I feel like I've consumed more than my limit of wine tonight."

Together, they walked through the cobbled streets of Solitude, with only the twin moons above to watch over them.

"So, what's the next move, soldier?" Rikke asked, amusement coloring each word.

"I'm still working on it," the other woman replied, before giving a wink, "but you can count on it for creativity."

* * *

"I did not even have to lift a finger this time," Fasendil announced, loud enough for Elaira to hear, "the camp tucked away in cold Eastmarch eventually disbanded, their supplies depleted at last. All I had to do was offer clemency for the starved soldiers before feeding them... of course, they had to know of the repercussions they face."

Legate Hrollod grunted his approval, before he added, "Mixwater Mill has been abandoned by its workers, and could use the men's help in providing lumber throughout the region. Gilfre, the owner of this place, was more than happy to take them on; with the promise of her safety and a small contingent of soldiers to keep the men in line."

"You got lucky," the Dragonborn sniffed, earning her a wide smile from the High Elf, "I had to call in my Riekling friends from Solstheim to help me intimidate the opposition in Falkreath."

"Riekling?" Rikke asked.

The other woman simply nodded before standing up and opening the door. Standing at the threshold was a creature, not even to their shin's height but looked every bit formidable. It breathed noisily and looked at them at an unnatural angle.

"This, my friends, is a Riekling," she announced, looking every bit proud of this creature.

"Why, it's... adorable," the older Nord woman commented, and it snapped its head to look at her before looking back at the Dragonborn.

"A. Do. Ra. Ble?" It rasped out, earning a gasp from Fasendil.

Elaira nodded. "Cute." She enunciated, and the creature gagged as though offended by the word.

The Riekling turned back to Rikke, both arms pumping in the air as though protesting her comment. "Riekling. Strong. Riekling. Not. Cute."

"It talks!" Fasendil remarked, his astonishment painted openly on his face. "Did you...?"

"Oh, no. He's the only one who can talk so far, other than their chief..." The woman explained, lightly scratching her cheek as though remembering something unpleasant. "I'm looking to educate the rest, though."

"But how...?"

The creature turned to him and gave a toothy grin. "Riekling. Smart."

"Why did it sound so offended when Rikke called it adorable?" Adventus asked, now standing up to get a better look at it.

"My daughter might have given him a scare with that word," she chuckled, "kept on hugging and calling him cute the entire time. I bet he thinks Rikke was about to swoop down and give a hug as well."

Rikke stood up and with a smile, said, "I ought to do that right about now!"

It gave what sounded like a gurgled sharp intake of breath before running to hide behind its master. "Chief. Hide. Me!"

The room burst into loud laughter.

The general, however, remained confused about one thing.

"You have a daughter?"

* * *

 **Fin.**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** It won't leave me alone, so here it is. I apologize for any inconsistent spellings and wrong grammar; I will look it over again when I have the time. For now, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed typing it away.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TES V: Skyrim.


End file.
